


Peroxide

by LadyProto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Heartbreaking, Heterosexual Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Married Sex, Pretending to be staight, compulsory heterosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyProto/pseuds/LadyProto
Summary: Matrimony is a bitter word.((AU where Luna and Noct do get married, though Noctis can’t help but think of another blond on his wedding night. ))





	Peroxide

“You can take off my dress.” Luna rolls her shoulder blades down her back, offering her chest to Noctis’s eyes and hands. 

Noctis is a married man as of six hours ago, on paper but not in heart. “Til Death do us part” had set the mood for the wedding -- another morbid yet inevitable fate that Noctis had been groomed for since he had been a child. The vows were a sham. The certificate was pointless. Flashes from paparazzi photographers has given him a migraine. On the surface, they were Oracle and the King, the stuff of legends, a fairy tale told to children before they sleep. They have a bond so pure that it was ordained by the gods. But it all feels like a duty, and there’s something not sitting right in the pit of his stomach 

Noctis doesn't want this -- the wedding, the Altissian honeymoon, the duties to god and country. He tries to be happy, to be a good chosen one and take his destiny with happiness. Luna and Noctis may have had something once, long ago when they were children before war and strife drove a wedge between them. But here and now, the weak last gasps of the evening's dying light illuminates their emotional distance. He doesn’t even know the woman in front of him as anything other than a pen pal at best, and untouchable celebrity at worst. Their relationship doesn't have a chance in hell to flourish as anything except fodder for the celebrity tabloids. 

Luna obviously doesn’t deal in “could have been beens”, only in foolish hopes. When Noctis doesn't move, Luna unzips her own dress. Waterfalls of snow-pure silk puddle around her slim ankles. It's just another It’s not that she’s not pretty; She’s a perfection that Noctis knows he doesn’t deserve. He has no resentment for her, only pity. They’re both just victims, forced to walk down to the end of their life path together because god and country decreed it. Only she’s never had a chance to know an outside world, and Noctis can't help but drown in his memories of carefree teenage years spent with Prompto. 

_Always by my side, my Prompto._

Luna’s naked except for white lace lingerie, trying to coyly twist her string of pearls around her finger. Her watery blue eyes waver with longing. She’s begging Noctis for acceptance because in this moment she has a chance to feel like they used to before the war. She could be loved, be carefree, be at peace. “Don’t just stare, Noct, you’re making me nervous.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just, your hair. It’s really pretty.” Noctis stammers. He always did have a thing for blondes. There weren't many in Insomnia, At least not natural ones. Peroxide blondes were a dime a dozen, and not his thing. Bleached out hair stood stark and metallic, washed out and barely a few shades livelier than elderly women. But man, he loves naturals. Luna’s reflects too much of the blanched silver he’d grown to dislike. But Prompto is a warmer shade of natural, like toasted butterscotch on ice cream sundaes. 

_Always so pure, my Prompto._

In a certain light, Luna looks a little like Prompto -- only somehow a little lighter, airier somehow. Fundamentally, they were as different as night and day. Prompto was the essence of sun, of freedom, of summer days spent in arcades and summer nights spent sitting on the roof tops. He was the blaze of sunlight almost too harsh to bare. Luna was gentler, softer like tea time and berry cakes. But physically -- If the lighting was only slightly different, Noctis could shift his vision of Luna’s pale, thin body into Prompto’s.

He wishes he hadn’t thought that. 

Noctis bites his lip, and Luna waits for him to make his move. He wonders if she'd believe him if he said he was tired, or that he'd had too much to drink at the reception. He could easily get out of this situation. It's a marriage of political convenience, so passion was never a guarantee. All that was required was for them fuck enough times to bring forth a couple of kids, and then he would live his life in opulent comfort in their shared kingdoms in the newly united world. Most people who be satisfied with an arrangement like that. Except, he can’t be. He’s never satisfied. His brain twists things all wrong. 

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“Oh, okay. Sorry, that was..." Noctis doesn’t know how to move on from the thoughts plaguing his mind. He’s not sure of anything right now. He just…. Why didn’t he get to deal with this sort of thing when he was younger?

Noctis squeezes his eyes shut, sucking his breath deep and deciding to settle. He grabs her hard, with a desperation and strength he didn't know he had in him. She gasps into his mouth at his sudden passion, and he feels her smooth rounded chin become angled and defined. Truthfully, Noctis didn't know what Prompto would feel like. They'd never kissed. Prompto probably didn’t even know Noctis had a thing for him. No, Prompto swooned and obsessed over pretty girls. None of it mattered now anyways. Noctis was married to woman. There’s a woman’s body underneath his hands. He likes blonde women.

Why does this all feel so wrong? 

Noctis pushes her into the king-size bed. The red silk sheets become a closing curtain of this showy opulence. Is This sex? Where her hands are suggests that. Where his mouth is suggests it too. It all feels scripted, and Noctis can’t stand the thought of another protocol shaping his life. Marriage isn't a ring worn or a paper signed. It is not something endured but savoured. Yet the only thing he's ever savored has been Prompto’s company. 

Spending time with Prompto doesn’t feel like a chore. Touching Prompto is an exhilarating choice, not a divine decree. Prompto is the freedom of a road trip with the convertible top down. He’s the playfulness of stealing drinks of each other’s milkshakes. He’s the coveted caresses of fingertips as the Prince and the Pauper make wide-eyed promises to be friends forever. 

Prompto is the pure pain and heartache of the first love that’s just not meant to be. 

The act finishes with little fanfare, just two pale bodies gripping tightly for things they will never have. She reaches out to him, and Noctis holds her close, running his hand through her peroxide blonde hair and looking for the tell-tale sign of dark roots. There is none of course, not physically, but while she’s a natural, she’s not his Prompto. She’s Luna. Her beauty a pale luminescence reminder of the sun that came before.

**Author's Note:**

> Been in a depressive slump recently, and this is the first thing I've managed to churn out. Be warned I have the second part of Lolita coming up, so I'll be back on the angst train as soon as possible. 
> 
> Choo choo


End file.
